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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512014">If You Love It, Let It Go</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/multiplelizards/pseuds/multiplelizards'>multiplelizards</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Enemies to Friends, F/M, M/M, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg-centric, as I said elsewhere: a thesis on why these two should get along</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:28:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,802</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27512014</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/multiplelizards/pseuds/multiplelizards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Yennefer isn't the only one Geralt pushes away on the mountain. And well. Enemy of my enemy and all that.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>If You Love It, Let It Go</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was supposed to end Yen/Triss but I got caught up in Yen and Jaskier's FRIENDSHIP and like...why these two would actually get along pretty well as soon as Geralt was out of the picture. So.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Finding out about Geralt's djinn wish is like being gutted. Yennefer <i>knows</i> magic, knows how insincere it is, how cutting, how <i>fake</i>. Finding that this gentle feeling in her chest is manufactured, no different from a glamor or a charm, is world-shattering. </p><p>She lashes out, Geralt lashes out in turn. They both say things they know will hurt, will dig claws in, will <i>bleed</i>. When she storms away, angry tears streaking down her face, she has one plan: pack up the tent and portal out of here.</p><p>The shouting that follows mere moments later is...not surprising, exactly, but the bard that stumbles into camp, eyes rimmed red and looking lost is, just a little. Yennefer watches him out of the corner of her eye as she flicks her wrist, using magic to get the tent to fold down small enough to fit in her bag.</p><p>Jaskier stumbles over to the lean-to he and Geralt should have shared last night and kind of...stares. One of the dwarves is breaking their camp not too far away, gives a shout of greeting which seems to jolt Jaskier back to the task at hand. He starts packing his bag, slow and methodical, his expression blank and distant.</p><p>Something sits <i>wrong</i> with Yennefer about it. She <i>hates</i> the bard, hates the attention he gets from Geralt, the way Geralt can't shut up about him in that quiet way of his, hates him for the competition he presents, even if she'd been winning. But seeing him like this, blank and silent, it's obvious he's upset and he's hurting and she can guess whose fault that is. And well. Enemy of my enemy and all that.</p><p>"Bard," she calls, pausing in her packing.</p><p>He jolts again, eyes passing over her only to slide away, expression vacant. "Sorry Yennefer, I--" he pauses, licks his lips, still crouched over his open bag, "I'm not up to par right now, I'm afraid. Perhaps we can do this later?" And oh, that's...upsetting. She's upset <i>on his behalf</i> which is just--</p><p>"I don't want to argue with you, Jaskier," she says, biting back the impulse to call him something less flattering. It gets his attention at least. His gaze drifts back over to her, settles.</p><p>"What could you possibly want, then?" he asks, voice soft. It's so <i>defeated</i> it hurts to even hear. It's the only reason she makes the offer she does.</p><p>"I'm leaving. Come with me." She's expecting some grand, overblown reaction. Instead, she gets a long stare, a slow blink in response.</p><p>"Why?"</p><p>"Because--" <i>because he hurt you too, because if anyone understands this it's</i> you, <i>because I can't be alone,</i> "--Geralt won't expect it. And you need as much of a break from him as I do." It's the truth, if only partly.</p><p>He looks...blank. It's unnerving--the bard is not meant to be still, to be quiet. "Okay," he says after an extended pause, no fanfare. There's not even a token protest. "I'll go with you."</p><p>They pack quickly after that. Yennefer finishes magically putting away her tent. Jaskier finishes packing his bag. He glances briefly at Geralt's things, expression gone vacant again.</p><p>"Jaskier," his attention slides back to her, slowly, "ready to go?"</p><p>He works his throat for a moment, no sound. "Yeah," he eeks out, "I just--"</p><p>"You don't owe him anything," she hisses, watching his gaze drift back over to Geralt's things, "<i>we</i> don't owe him anything."</p><p>"You're right," he sighs, closes his eyes. He doesn't ask where they're going when she opens the portal and she doesn't tell him.</p><p>They step out into her modest estate in Vengerberg, in the courtyard. She expects that now they have arrived, Jaskier will ask where they are. He doesn't. He just...stands there, looking lost. It’s irritating.</p><p>"Well, here we are," she prompts. Jaskier simply <i>hums</i> in response and it's too familiar--she's too raw. She snaps. "Are you going to fucking <i>say something</i> or are you going to stand there like a marionette for Militile's sake?"</p><p>He stares, eyes wide. "What do you want me to say?"</p><p>"I don't <i>know</i>," she hisses, angry, "but if you're just going to <i>mope</i> you can <i>leave</i>." She doesn't <i>care</i> where the bard goes (except that maybe she does, just a little).</p><p>"Oh," he says, voice small. She sighs, forces herself to reign in her temper.</p><p>"Stay for the night, at least. If you're still--" she makes a vague gesture in his general direction that doesn't actually indicate anything, "--tomorrow, then you can go. But stay for today."</p><p>The silence is too thick. She thinks he'll reject her offer outright, but-- "okay," he says, nearly too quiet.</p><p>She sets him up in his own room, sends the house servants to check on him periodically, and tries to tell herself she doesn’t care whether he chooses to stay or go.</p><p>He's still there in the morning, looking a little more like himself, although his eyes are a little red again.</p><p>"Good morning, Yennefer, dear," he mumbles around a mouthful of sweet bread where he's perched at her dining table. She snorts.</p><p>"Sure," she huffs, stalking through to snatch the remaining sweet bread right from his plate. He frowns a little but doesn't argue it with her (not a good sign). They stare each other down as she nibbles delicately at the roll. "So--" she resents that he's making her <i>ask</i>, "--how are you doing?"</p><p>His expression doesn't shift from the pleasant blankness. "Fine."</p><p>"Bullshit, bard."</p><p>He sighs. "What do you want to hear, Yennefer?"</p><p>"The truth, for once," she tells him, point-blank. It feels a little like digging her nails into flesh, a little like picking at a raw wound. Whether she wants him to hurt or herself, she's not sure.</p><p>"What do you want me to <i>say</i>?"</p><p>"You love him," she accuses, angry. Those nails dig in a little deeper, draw blood, "and he'll never love you."</p><p>His expression doesn't shift, but his eyes look-- "yeah," he says, quiet, "I do." He doesn't dispute Geralt doesn't love him but doesn't acknowledge it, either.</p><p>"And he doesn't <i>care</i>," Yennefer continues, sweet bread forgotten. She wants to watch that blankness <i>crack</i>, "you love him and he doesn't return it, doesn't care, doesn't love you back. Why do you <i>stay</i>, Jaskier?"</p><p>"What else can I do?" he asks. It's <i>infuriating</i>.</p><p>"It hurts you, Jaskier. Why let him hurt you?" She finds she wants to understand. Love, the good kind, the kind she's always wanted, isn't supposed to <i>hurt</i>. Can't he understand?</p><p>The look he gives her is soft and sad. "You don't choose who you love, Yennefer. Sometimes--" he breaks off to stare at the empty plate before him, "--sometimes it doesn't last. Sometimes it never goes away."</p><p>"But it hurts you," she reiterates pointlessly, brow pinched in frustration.</p><p>"It does," he agrees, one hand pressed to his chest, "and we don't get to choose that, either." His smile is self-deprecating this time.</p><p>"Why does it have to <i>hurt,</i> Jaskier?" She's horrified to find fresh tears brimming in her eyes. She turns away, tries to tamp down on the surge of pain in her chest. Jaskier sits, silent. "I hate him," she whispers, "fuck, I hate him."</p><p>Behind her, the chair scrapes noisily across the flagstones as he pushes away from the table to cross the room, awkwardly pat at her shoulder. "It always hurts," he murmurs, "you get used to it."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------------</p>
</div><p>They don't talk about Geralt after that, although he lingers in every conversation, unspoken. He loves Yennefer. He doesn't love Jaskier. Yennefer hates that her choice was taken from her, that she seems to love him anyway. Jaskier is resigned to scraps of affection, always no better than second best. All of it makes her righteously furious to think about, so she doesn't (except, of course, she does).</p><p>Jaskier doesn't ask about leaving and she doesn't ask him to go again, after the first afternoon. It's...good. To have someone around that understands. Because he <i>does</i>, even though they don't talk about it.</p><p>They establish a routine. Jaskier spends hours in her library, reading and composing and singing. She spends her day in the workroom. They meet in the kitchen for lunch, have an informal dinner in the dining room, spend evenings together around the hearth of her sitting room.</p><p>At some point, she stops thinking of him as insufferably annoying and only amusing, wonders if this is how Geralt thinks of him, wonders if he feels <i>fond</i> the way she does, sometimes, when Jaskier is more himself.</p><p>It would be easier if she loved <i>him.</i> Jaskier is so kind, so good, even when she doesn't deserve it. He gives as good as he gets, but he's never cruel, not the way she can be. How could Geralt have ever looked at him, held his heart in his hands, and turned him away? Jaskier deserves <i>good</i>, deserves better than Geralt, better than Yennefer. Destiny has been viciously unfair to the bard, setting him between the two of them, a willing target for their joint suffering, their joint pain. </p><p>And yet he smiles, he sings, he refuses to leave. Maybe she <i>does</i> understand Geralt, a little. And Jaskier, too, maybe. <i>If you love it enough, you let it go</i>. She needs to practice letting go.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------------</p>
</div><p>It's really only a matter of time before Geralt shows up--he's been to Yennefer's Vengerberg estate before. The house servants let him in, leave him in her receiving room (not the library, not anymore. That's Jaskier's space).</p><p>"Geralt," she says, voice carefully void of emotion. She's angry, gods is she angry, but he looks...bad. The circles under his eyes, always prominent, are deep, dark bruises. He's a little too thin, a little too gaunt. He looks haunted.</p><p>"Yen," he says, voice rough, like he hasn't spoken for weeks (he likely hasn't).</p><p>"What do you want? You know I want nothing to do with you." She's not sure about that, really, but when she says it, it feels true. She <i>doesn't</i> want to see him, doesn't want anything to do with him. It's not that she loves him less, per se. She still feels whatever this is in her chest. She just...finds she doesn't quite trust it, doesn't want to indulge it. They've only ever hurt each other. She wants to stop hurting so, so badly.</p><p>"I know," he says, sounding tired, "Yen, I know, but--" he breaks off, sucks in a breath like he's steeling himself for a fight, "--I need your help."</p><p>She <i>laughs</i>.</p><p>"I know, I know. I don't deserve to even ask--"</p><p>"No, you don't," she says, voice like razor wire, vicious. He keeps going.</p><p>"--but I can't find him Yen. I've looked everywhere and I can't find him. I can't--" his voice breaks and he ducks his head, hides his face. She doesn't feel like laughing anymore. He soldiers on after a moment, voice wavering, "If he's gone and it's my fault, Yen, I--"</p><p>"Geralt." Her chest aches, painfully. <i>This</i> is what Jaskier's felt, for years, she thinks. This aching, creeping pain as she realizes that Geralt isn't here for <i>her</i>, despite his wish, despite how he’s tied them together. He's looking for Jaskier. Maybe she's had him wrong all this time.</p><p>"Please," he says, turns his eyes back towards her again. He looks hollowed out, like there's nothing behind that gaze. "I know I fucked up with you both, Yen. But please."</p><p>She thinks about lying. If Geralt doesn't believe Jaskier alive any longer, he'll leave the bard in peace, give him the opportunity to start to heal, to move on. Gods know Jaskier can't do that on his own. She wants to. The selfish part of her thinks if she can keep him long enough, Jaskier might love <i>her</i> that strongly, that fiercely, after a time.</p><p>She knows that's another lie, but she does entertain it, for a moment.</p><p>The other thing, of course, is <i>choice</i>. She's had her own choice of who to love ripped from her. Could she do that to Jaskier?</p><p>"Have a seat," she sighs, "I'll be back."</p><p>"Yen--"</p><p>"I <i>said</i>," she snaps, "I'll be back. Sit. <i>Don't</i> make me say it again." He sits. She leaves.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------------</p>
</div><p>"He <i>what</i>?"</p><p>"He's worried you're dead, apparently," she says, feigning disinterest as she examines her nails.</p><p>"And you just--" he waves his arms about for emphasis, "<i>didn't say anything</i> and <i>left</i>?" His tone is incredulous.</p><p>She purses her lips and qirks an eyebrow--<i>isn't that what I</i> just <i>said?</i></p><p>"Fuck. Yeah, yes, okay. Um."</p><p>"Breathe, Jaskier."</p><p>He takes a quick, shallow breath, something edging close to hyperventilating. "Fuck, okay, I'll talk to him."</p><p>"You don't have to," she says. <i>Don't leave me</i> she thinks.</p><p>"No, I do," he sighs, leans forward to catch her hand in his. A few months ago she would have turned him into a beetle for that. Now-- "Don't look so sad, Yen, darling."</p><p>"Shut up, bard." He's going to leave, like everyone else. <i>Let go.</i></p><p> "I'm not going anywhere yet," he says, like he's the one who can read minds here.</p><p>"You don't have to stay," she shakes her head, pulls her hand back, too gentle.</p><p>"I know."</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------------</p>
</div><p>"Here," Yennefer waves behind herself dismissively as she reenters the room. Geralt sits up straighter. Behind her, Jaskier bounces a little anxiously on the balls of his feet.</p><p>"Fuck," he mumbles when he catches sight of Geralt over her shoulder, "you didn't say he looked so bad."</p><p>"Thought that was a given," she answers without looking. Geralt's gone very, very still.</p><p>"Yen--"</p><p>"He's been here since we left," she answers before he can ask. She can see him swallow from across the room. They’re eyeing each other, something in Geralt’s gaze she’s never seen before. It reaches into her chest and <i>twists</i>. "I'll leave you to it."</p><p>She leaves. No one stops her.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>------------------------------</p>
</div><p>Jaskier is the one to come find her, after.</p><p>"He said you didn't want to see him again," he says as he settles into the chair opposite her. She's been--not <i>hiding</i>, she wouldn't call it <i>hiding</i>--in her study since she left them alone about an hour ago now.</p><p>"I don't," she agrees.</p><p>"You still love him, though," he says, soft and understanding. She puts the book she's been trying to distract herself with down, looks directly into his eyes.</p><p>"I do. I still don't know how real it is."</p><p>"Yen--"</p><p>"It doesn't matter. We're--" she cuts him off, shakes her head, "we're not good for each other, Jaskier."</p><p>"And he and I are any better?" he asks quietly. His words cut, draw blood. She's had the thought before herself.</p><p>"<i>You</i> deserve better," she tells him, eyes averted as she stares into the hearth fire.</p><p>"Aw, you do care," he coos, soft. Then, a lot more seriously, "you deserve better too, Yennefer."</p><p>She shrugs one shoulder, dismissive. "I do," she answers faintly. It isn't convincing even to her own ears.</p><p>"Yen--"</p><p>"I want someone to need me," she says, thinking back to what she told Geralt, on the mountain. Before things fell apart. "More than anything."</p><p>"That's why--" he trails off, doesn't finish. They both know what he means.</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"You don't have to have a child to be needed, Yen. I've needed you, this whole time. You know that, don't you?"</p><p>"And now you don't," she says, trying not to sound bitter. He’s leaving, like everyone else. Found something better. They both are, this time. (It hurts, gods does it never stop <i>hurting</i>?)</p><p>"No," Jaskier shakes his head, gently, "just what I need is different."</p><p>"And what do you need now, bard?" She twists to face him fully, expression hard. She doesn't appreciate his lies.</p><p>"I need you to be there, when Geralt inevitably fucks up again. To listen. To talk to." It's not the same, but-- "I do love you, Yen."</p><p>"You're awful," she tells him, eyes downturned. There's a warm feeling surging in her chest, something tender and delighted, licking warmth melting the cold ice feeling of dread. He believes what he’s telling her--it’s the truth.</p><p>"I love you too," he smiles, eyes bright. "Are we good?"</p><p>She sucks in a deep breath. "We're good, bard." The smile that lights his face is radiant, perfect. In another universe, she might have loved him, the same way she might have loved Geralt, untainted by the djinn wish. The difference is that this is still clean, untouched by magic. It's not the deep, romantic love she's longed for since she was a child, but it's milder, truer. She believes him in a way she's never quite believed anyone else before.</p><p><i>If you love it, let it go</i>. He may be leaving, but he'll be back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come yell at me on <a href="https://writinglizards.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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